I just had these really intense dreams, in the complete structure of a 3-act drama, movie-like, that even had end credits (and music), about me and Dad, about our family, and ultimately, in this dream, about you and me!
Our conversation from yesterday must have deeply stirred my subconscious.
The story, of you and me, which was the central and final thread of the drama. The essence of it was that you and I were the key players in a could-have-been-tragic (family) event…(Columbine-style maniacs were killing random people on the street, on a street in a city where our family was vacationing; we all laid flat on the ground behind a low fence in a churchyard, but then I had crawled a little away and you couldn’t see me, and in your shock and panic you stood up to find me, and then the remaining killer (the other had been shot by cops) saw you and was going to shoot you with his automatic gun and I stood up and screamed at him and jumped on him and he didn’t shoot either of us, instead I smacked his head into the asphalt with the body of his own gun and this police officer nearby, in riot gear, with his own gun, was looking at me like I was crazy for doing that and I could see that the police officer was crying with the effort of stalking the Columbine-style maniac; the police officer told me I shouldn’t have done that; and then after that, in the dream, you and I always had a special bond in the family because you would have died to save my life (you stood up to look for me even though it would have gotten you killed, and I ran to the machine gun killer to stop him even though I knew it would get me killed even if it had a chance of saving your life)…so we always had this special connection after having found that out.
And then!! In the third Act of the dream (the first was about me and Dad, and alcohol, celebrity (Michael Jackson), a lack of a fear of heights, and other aspects came into play); but in the third act of this epic dream, you and I with our special post-tragedy bond, we were able to see things that other people (even other people in the family) couldn’t…we knew, like ringing a bell, what was about to happen about certain things in the future. We knew when the third floor (attic/bedroom [of our parents]) was due for imminent collapse. We advised everyone to leave the third and parts of the second floor, as the third floor would soon be collapsing into part of the second. We could see the beams and the planks bowing and ready to break, even when everyone else was still deluded that it was ok! And some people listened to us, and some people didn’t, but you and I had this glacial peace as we simply moved ourselves from the third, to the second, to the first floor, then outside, then into a streetcar/trolley as the house collapsed all around us. We were in the middle of chaos but we understood it, we predicted it, we knew everything about it before it ever happened, and -with this special bond- the two of us just walked right through the middle of it all! We had become untouchable, and had this purity in connection. When we got in the streetcar we knew it was going to crash into the one behind it–and this time it was you, me, and the [female/black] driver/captain of the urban trolley: the three of us knew. We were going to crash into the next trolley, or it to us, because it couldn’t stop. It was in slow motion. I calculated the fact that if that trolley hit us from this direction while we were going in that direction, that the mass of the people inside would be affected in this direction, so we positioned ourselves in the center aisle facing in the other direction to counterbalance the force, which worked beautifully. And this little [black] boy fell on us and he thought he was dying but we said ‘no’. You, Amy, sat on my right knee, and you told him to sit on my left knee, and the three of us plus the bus driver were untouched by disaster, even when it fell on our heads.
And the end of the dream was end credits like a movie, with the three of us sitting unscathed on the bus, and I kissed your head because I was so happy you hadn’t been killed by the Columbine-motherfucker, and music played, a song called “Get Used to Love!” whose chorus was the words “Get Used to Love!”. So let’s call the little black boy Suzanne, perhaps, and know that tears are streaming down my face as I recall this dream for you, and know that I truly would do anything for you, including giving mylife to stop a madman if he ever threatened to hurt you, and know that at this moment I am terrified, terrified at happiness and love, and terrified, terrified at the nature of the subconscious to do this to me while I’m sleeping.